Mesquite, TX

I just got back from a truly American experience – the Rodeo at Mesquite (about 25 miles from here). It started at 8pm, but it was suggested to me that I should get there when the doors opened at 6:30pm, so I could look around first. “Looking around” took at least 15 minutes, but I did get a good parking space.

One thing that hits you as you walk in is an unmistakable smell – I suppose you get used to it if you go often enough, or if you spend your life around horses. If you’ve ever been to a hockey game, you’ll have seen the Zamboni going round, turning the churned up ice into a mirror-smooth playing surface; the rodeo equivalent is a tractor with a contraption on the back that chops up and blends the horse and cattle dung into the underlying sand and clay. I now know why the riders stay on the bucking broncos so long – not so much to win as to avoid being dumped unceremoniously into the cunningly disguised faeces beneath them.

Rodeo action

And, you know, the really odd thing is that they have a strict no-smoking policy. I think they ought to work a little harder on training the horses and cattle to crap before they come to work (I could easily get side-tracked here on why dog-owners are expected to clear up after their pets when nobody takes responsibility for clearing up after foxes, badgers, ducks, geese, seagulls, etc. – but I won’t).

You’ll never hear an announcement that begins “Will the owner of a white Mercedes, license plate … “ at a rodeo. Those aren’t the sort of people that go. The sort of people that do are all good Americans, but they’re all, shall we say … “cowboys” (or “cowgirls”) at heart. Nothing wrong with that, but you should be prepared to eat hot dogs, drink Jack Daniels (the sponsored drink of the PRCA (Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association)), and wear a Stetson to really fit in.

I was really annoyed by the country band that started the proceedings. My musical tastes are pretty diverse, but one instrument I can’t stand is the slide guitar, and this band featured it, big time. It’s lucky for them I’m naïve with firearms, otherwise they’d have been looking for a new band member. He was a big guy too, right up front – easy target.

You might think I didn’t have fun, but I did – bull riding, steer wrestling, bronco riding, chuck wagon racing. And the thing that Americans do much better than Brits: involve the kids. They had all the under-8s line up in the arena (goodness knows what their shoes smelt like in the car on the journey home) while a young calf, with a blue ribbon tied to its tail, ran from one end to the other. The winner was the first to get the ribbon. The kids had fun, and I suspect the calf wasn’t too upset by the attention, either.